Botched Research Shaft Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Quadrupeds and bipeds
raced and trotted in
to sit behind computer screens

that strolled through the jungle
and stroke the edges
of a shifting and dancing sun,

as a saw-edged lamp
turned bright patches of cotton
showered through

to give face and hands
a through gleaming rub-down.

(ii)

The workplace this morning
soon grew into panting horses
and squeaking sparrows,
a noisy space with jumping

and flying hands over
keyboards taking experts

on a wild ride through
avenues that dodged each other,
meeting at no point
to bundle and tie stalks to fit

in one bouquet of flowers,
colors and petals that could tickle
an eagle-eyed committee
of hair-splitting supervisors.


(iii)

By mid-day the experts
had picked and plucked every leaf
and feather, as they turned in
scraps and bulky chunks.

But I was struck by the clouds
and smoke and fog
tugged into my fattened in-tray
on claws and wheels.

My in-tray carried dung
and droppings of dudes

in the office, who'd galloped
and trotted and flew
from braying and chirping computers,

to turn in with feathery hands
at the last moment
thick scattered seeds for a paper

short of chained schema
built on the spine
of a leafless plant standing

on thin fibers of roots,
a shaft of sun

from the window melting
scripts into crawling ants
biting not even a single point.